Chapter XIV: Waiting for Daylight

Having emerged from the stream, Mendez rode down the bank, toward the ridge, where the hostiles had been first seen during the day. It will be remembered that he had now entered upon the bailiwick of Potter, the scout, who was engaged upon the same errand.

As before, the friendly Apache placed his main reliance upon his pony, who knew as well as his rider the delicate duty in hand.

The animal walked slowly, his hoofs sinking to the fetlocks in the soft sand, while the senses of both were at the highest point. To the surprise of Mendez he passed a full half mile without observing the slightest sign of his enemies. Then, as before, his animal stopped of his own accord.

The keenest scrutiny of the front and on every hand failed to show the cause of the abrupt stoppage of the horse, but he must have had a cause, for, as may be said, his action was controlled by an instinct approaching reason.

Several minutes passed without the appearance of anything to explain the situation, and then Mendez gently pressed one heel against the ribs of the pony, who resumed his walk, but stopped again after taking a dozen steps.

Some of the Apache horses must have been less trained than they should have been, for not one but two or three neighed upon discovering another of their species in their vicinity.

It was all sufficient; Mendez had located the band and he now turned his animal’s head in the other direction to report to Lieutenant Decker. At that moment several Apache horsemen burst into sight, dashing at full speed toward the scout, who, with a word sent his own animal flying toward camp.

The race was short and furious. Mendez was the better mounted and rapidly pulled away from his pursuers, who sent several bullets whistling after him and then drew off from the pursuit.

When convinced that the chase was over, Mendez checked his speed and turned slightly to the right, so as to draw away from the stream, which had been followed most of the time. He was not far from camp and haste was not necessary.

And again his horse made a discovery. He did not stop but slackened his pace, with ears erect and head turned to the right, toward the open plain.

The keen vision of the rider quickly saw the cause. A dark object was discerned on the sand, but was so indistinct that its nature could not be learned without a nearer approach.

The first thought was that it might be one of the hostiles, trying to steal upon the whites in this characteristic fashion. Mendez held his rifle ready to fire and gently urged his horse to advance. He seemed loath to obey, but did so, once more halting, after advancing a few paces.

That which the scout saw was the figure of a man prone and motionless in the sand. Studying him for some time, no change of position could be perceived. The pony was urged more sternly than before. As if aware that it was useless to disregard his master’s command, he snorted and then walked straight to the figure, not stopping until his owner checked him within twenty feet.

The form on the ground was that of Potter, the scout. He was lying on his face and did not move a muscle. There was good reason for this as was shown by the feather-tipped point of an arrow which projected from between his shoulders.

Mendez slipped from his steed and stooping over rolled the body on its back. The scout had been dead for some time, killed by an arrow driven with such terrific force into his back that the tip showed in front. While he was stealing upon his enemies he must have been discovered by one of them, without the knowledge of the scout. Although the Apaches are experts in the use of firearms, they are equally skillful in handling the bow and arrow, which, because of their noiselessness, sometimes serve their cruel purposes better than the more common weapon. They have often slain a white man within a few rods of his friends, without awaking suspicion, the twang of the bowstring being scarcely louder than a sudden puff of air.

With all his experience in scouting against those people, the white man had met his death at last through their superior cunning.

Mendez vaulted upon the back of his pony and a few minutes later rejoined his friends. The horse of Potter had arrived some time before, so that his companions were prepared for the news. Almost at the same moment, Martin came in with word that he had been unable to learn anything, which, in view of the fate of his comrade, was perhaps a fortunate thing for him.

One fact was evident: the Apaches had been as quick to detect the presence of the troopers as the latter were to discover them. None of the sentinels had observed any of the hostiles prowling in the neighborhood, but there could be no doubt that one or more of them had crept nigh enough to learn the truth.

“They are a half mile or so away,” remarked Lieutenant Decker to the leading scouts, whom he was always glad to consult; “and what is best to do?”

“If you will allow me,” remarked Freeman, “we can do nothing but wait for daylight, for the reason that it is impossible now to surprise them.”

“That is sensible,” commented Peyser, “they will be looking for us, and, if we make an attack in the moonlight, they will have the advantage.”

The lieutenant examined his watch. It was considerably past midnight. He was ready to lead a charge against the raiders, but it would have been unwise in view of what was already known. He assented to wait until sunrise.

“But it is well to make a change of base,” he said; “the Apaches, knowing we are here, will try to gain a shot at us.”

Inasmuch as there was little choice of location, the troopers took the singular course of riding out on the plain to the spot where the body of Potter, the scout, lay stretched in the sand. They could not abandon it, the intention being to take it back to the fort and give it Christian burial.

Men engaged upon such arduous work as the troopers snatch sleep and rest as the opportunity offers. The night was cool enough to make their blankets comfortable, and they were spread on the sand, while the hardy owners stretched out upon them, sinking almost immediately into deep, restful slumber. All the horses had been ridden hard and the rest was grateful to them, even though they suffered for food. Thus the scene was a curious one. With the exception of three sentinels, placed at some distance from camp, the entire company were unconscious.

But it need not be said that they slept on their arms, ready to leap to their feet and fight to the death at the first alarm. They had done it many a time before and always held themselves ready to do it again.

The sentinel to the north and the one to the south saw nothing to cause the slightest misgiving. They were extremely vigilant, for each realized that his own life, as well as the lives of his comrades might be sacrificed by a moment’s forgetfulness. If an Apache was permitted to steal nigh enough to launch his deadly arrow, he would thus open the way for a swift and deadly charge by his comrades.

Three times the guard placed between the camp and stream was on the point of firing his gun, but checked himself until his suspicion should become certainty. A faint ripple of water drew his attention to the creek, and he dimly saw a small dark object floating on the water. At first it appeared to be drifting with the current, but he fancied it was gradually working to the shore nearer to him.

“I believe it is the head of one of them,” was his thought; “as soon as he comes nigh enough I’ll let drive.”

But after floating down stream a considerable way, it disappeared. The sentinel was an intelligent and alert fellow, who did not allow his scrutiny to be diverted more than a moment from any point of the compass within his field of vision. He knew that one of the favorite tricks of the Apaches was to draw the attention of their enemies to some point while the real danger approached from the other.

A half hour later the soldier on duty saw precisely the same thing repeated. A small round object drifted with the current, but, so far as he could determine, it was working toward the further bank; but, as in the former case, it remained in the water until it passed from sight.

“I think I could hit it from here,” reflected the sentinel, “but it may be a piece of wood or something like that, and the boys need their rest so much that it’s a pity to wake them without good cause—well, I’ll be hanged!”

It was not in the water this time, but close to it that the suspicious object now showed itself. It looked as if the first one having effected a landing at a point down stream was stealing up again, with a view of approaching camp. To do this, it kept on the very margin of the current, where the slight depression of the sandy bank afforded a trifling protection, though not enough wholly to conceal it.

“It’s one of them, dead sure,” muttered the trooper, making ready to give him a proper reception; “he can’t do any mischief until he comes nearer, and if I don’t let the moonlight shine through his noddle it will be because I’ve forgotten how to fire a gun.”

But after all the chance for a test of his marksmanship was denied the man who was so anxious to pick off the miscreant. While carefully watching and waiting until he could make his aim sure, the object, whatever it was, vanished, nor did it appear again.

The soldier could not know of a certainty the explanation of this curious occurrence and asked the opinion of Mendez the following morning. That sagacious scout listened attentively to the story and said in his abrupt way:

“Him ’Pache.”

But the few hours remaining of night passed without further alarm, and men and animals secured a much needed and refreshing rest. Dawn came at last and all felt that the day was to prove a decisive one.